Getting Religion

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After Baptizing my grandson, we headed for my son’s house to celebrate. The crowd included Joshua’s godparents, Paul, Melissa and their two children, Collin and Julianne. They flew in from Chicago for the occasion.

It was a typical after-baptism party. The women folk scurried about the kitchen, while the adult males contributed by remaining outside, sipping margaritas and beer. We solved the weightier problems of the world while the women organized the food.

The children, ranging in age from nine months to 12 years, played happily in the backyard. My son’s backyard has the size and feel of a city park. It is a carpet of lush grass dotted with mature hardwood trees at comfortable intervals. It is kid Heaven. The pack swarmed over the yard, squealing and laughing with delight. A play set, soccer balls, silly string and water pistols provided for the children’s amusement. There were also balloons suitable for filling with water.

Can you guess where this is going?

Eventually, the silly string cans ran out and the soccer ball disappeared. Inevitably, a water pistol duel broke out. Soon, 10-year-old Collin became bored with squirting the younger children and sought more dangerous game.

My son-in-law and I remained sanguine on the patio, sipping our drinks and discussing Spinoza, as I recall. Even as streams of water split the air around us, we remained untouchable. It was a precarious balance.

I could almost hear Collin’s moral fiber straining. In my heart, I knew he would eventually squirt an adult, just because they were there. I took the precaution of explaining to him that I was wearing my “good shirt” and a necktie worth more to me than his life. My lecture bought us the exact amount of time it took me to deliver it.

Minutes later, Collin squirted the back of my son-in-law’s head. Then, I got mine. It was a warm evening, so I was probably sweated-out, anyway. It was a cooling, if not a cool experience. Once Collin breached the adult – child barrier, there seemed no going back. He danced around us like a TV cop, squirting both son-in-law and me at will. We pleaded, but to no avail.

Then, my son showed up.

“Can I get you something else,” he asked solicitously.

“We would certainly like another round, if you don’t mind. And could you bring two large glasses of ice water?”

He returned with two drinks and two vengeance weapons. I mean glasses of water. As astonishing as it may seem, Collin failed to notice the water in front of us. If he knew us at all, he would have realized we never drink water.

In a few seconds, the boy refilled and resumed his attack. Son-in-law and I were becoming damp. After an acrobatic pass, he turned to go into the house.

He did not make it. Instead, he ended up sitting in a puddle of ice water on a bench on the patio. My son caught a few drops of the cold stuff as collateral damage, but more on that later.

“Mr. Burden and his son-in-law threw water on me! I’m going to tell Mom!” He moaned to his sister.

“Go ahead. She could use a laugh.” She said, laughing sympathetically.

I went into the house and forewarned the parents that justice had been served and their son was sopping wet on the patio. They seemed good with it.

It was time to go. We exchanged good-byes and I was climbing into my pickup truck when the first water balloon whizzed over my head. A quick glance revealed my son had launched the attack. Apparently, the earlier overspray incident distressed him.

I sped away before he could reload.

The next day I learned carnage erupted after my escape. My son pasted my son-in-law with another water balloon. Then, my daughter got revenge on my son with the ultimate weapon, the garden hose. It was a water pistol and balloon Armageddon. At first, my mental image was of a Three Stooges pie fight, only with water instead of custard. Now, I just think of it as an extended group Baptism, befitting the occasion. Everyone had a grand time. I am sorry I missed it. Almost.

I hope Collin got religion and learned not to fight above his weight.

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